


Not All Storms Leave a Mark

by yokomya



Series: Let's Make Believe [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Stiles jeep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:58:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5161211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yokomya/pseuds/yokomya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What if one day,” Stiles breathes out, “I watch you turn around and you don’t come back.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not All Storms Leave a Mark

“Have you ever noticed. . ?”

Scott’s words fade out into the humid summer night and he swallows, shuffling his sneakers against the slick road, dropping his head to look away from Stiles’ back. The asphalt is damp from the sun shower earlier that morning but there isn’t a single raindrop coming from the sky now, although the thick clouds are still hovering above them.  

He can’t help but look up again, at Stiles who is moving hastily around the jeep - looking for problems to fix that he doesn’t really know how to fix. He likes watching Stiles keep busy, the way the wrinkles in his shirt cascade and how his eyebrows knit together, how his legs become even more tangled up with each other running around quicker than he means to.

Stiles pauses as soon as what Scott said hits him. He waits for an end to the sentence but it doesn’t come so he lowers the duct tape in his hand - he was about to use it for an emergency operation on the jeep - and peers back.

“Have I noticed what, Scott?”

Scott has a thoughtful expression but his eyebrows lift in surprise when Stiles speaks. There’s a strange silence - which is weird because they don’t really have awkward silences together _like ever_ \- and then Stiles puts the duct tape down and fully turns around.

“What’s on your mind, buddy?”

“Nothing,” Scott replies, too quickly for Stiles' liking. Nope, he doesn’t like that response one bit.

“Okayyyy,” Stiles drawls out, “You were asking if I’ve ever ‘noticed’ something? You already said it so just for the love of God finish the sentence. I’m going to go crazy if you don’t.”

“Fine,” Scott answers shortly, “but you don’t have to stop working on Rosco.”

“Good idea.”

Stiles returns under the hood of the jeep to a patch of smoke still lingering around. He squints through it and rips a chunk of duct tape off the roll.

“Have you ever noticed the way Kira looks at me? Like when we have to split up?”

Well that was quite unexpected. Stiles coughs a little on the smoke and waves it out of his face before wrapping the tape around one of the loosened parts. Whatever the hell that part is.

“Um, no?” Stiles admits bluntly, getting his fingers stuck to the sticky side of the tape.

“I don’t know, she’s got this look on her face sometimes. Whenever we have to be apart for a little while she looks so. . . Sad.”

Stiles tries not to laugh but a snort comes out. He kicks on one of the metal pieces in the jeep, watching as another puff of fog pours out.

“Is she supposed to be happy, Scott? She wants to be around you. What do you think she’s going to do when you leave? Throw a party?”

“No, I know,” Scott sighs and comes up next to Stiles, leaning against the side of the jeep where Stiles isn’t working. “I know that but I’m not sure what to do about it. I don’t want to see her look at me like she’s. . .”

Stiles circles around Scott to grab a flashlight from the floorboard in the passenger seat before jumping up on the front of the jeep. Without even looking at each other, Scott takes the flashlight and shines it down into the smog situation happening below them while Stiles bites through another inch of duct tape.

“Like she’s-?” Stiles mumbles over the tape between his teeth, “Upset to see you leave? Sounds-” he grabs the tape off and plasters it to a crooked looking thingy, whatever that’s supposed to do- ”Normal to me.”

“Like she’s saying goodbye, Stiles,” Scott says lowly, his eyes soft and vulnerable. “As if any second we could. . . You know.”

Stiles is able to wrap up another part that won't stop rattling and swipes at his forehead. He lowers his hand for a second time and blinks, barely needing to turn to meet Scott’s gaze. Their faces are closer than he realized.

“Like we’ll never see each other again,” Scott finishes slowly, looking back at Stiles.

Stiles’ voice sort of jams itself down into his lungs because there’s an incredibly new pain there and wow Scott’s eyes are almost shining this close up. For a split second, Stiles sees that pretty crimson hidden beneath the array of browns but it might just be his imagination. There’s a silent storm there too - in Scott’s eyes - one that’s been there for a long time. 

“Yeah but you’re not saying that,” he offers, “And she’s not saying that either, right? Nobody is saying-” The last word gets hitched over the back of his throat and he has to clear it before croaking it out. “ _Goodbye_.”

“But it feels that way,” Scott disagrees, ducking his head away from Stiles now so he's peering out at the desolate street.

The jeep makes a gurgling sound and the lights become bright while the rest of the smoke disappears into the sky overhead. Stiles hops off the hood and shuts it, wiping his palms against his jeans before giving Scott another careful look.

“We’re always fighting something,” Scott explains, “So whenever any of us aren't in the same room it feels like goodbye, like this might be the last moment we have. Even though me and Kira broke up, I still feel like I’m supposed to protect her and every time we’re away from each other I-” he breathes out and changes his mind, saying instead, “There’s so much danger that I don’t know when something might happen to one of us-”

His words fall flat and he rubs the side of his neck, shaking his head, “Forget it.”

Stiles stares at Scott’s profile and bites his lip, holding it until it pinkins and turns white before releasing it. Even though he’s not dating Malia anymore, he sympathizes perfectly with what he’s saying. All of their friends have to live in fear of someday losing each other. 

“Scott, we don’t know what’s going to happen with any of this-” he stammers, gesturing to nothing in particular, “but none of us are saying goodbye, alright? In fact when Kira looks at you I don’t think that’s what she’s thinking at all, you know? I don't think that's what anybody is thinking.”

It shouldn't be a lie but it almost is. Because Stiles would be lying if he says he doesn't imagine Scott leaving him behind. Whether it's from leading different lives after high school or even worse. . . 

That expression, that loss of hope on Scott’s face, the way his inner storm rattles him to this _breaking point_ \- this downward spiral that Scott doesn’t seek help in recovering from - it's always the most heartbreaking thing Stiles experiences.

Eventually, Scott leans up from the jeep and gets into the passenger's side quietly, leaving Stiles to clamber into the driver’s seat straight after.

There’s a tension of where Scott doesn’t say anything else about what he brought up because as Stiles knows - unfortunately he knows this all too well - Scott doesn’t like to worry his friends.

Meaning Scott keeps it all inside.

It’s why Stiles is so freaking protective all the time. Because nobody protects Scott. Not in the way Scott protects everybody else. Not in the way he _deserves_.

Stiles waits another couple of seconds for some kind of progression to this conversation but Scott is looking out the window, shutting himself back off. It causes an ache beneath Stiles' rib cage, a dull pain that never completely leaves.

Reluctantly, Stiles turns the ignition on, unable to feel proud that it works because he’s feeling all messed up inside.

The drive is deafeningly quiet after that. It's unusual for them.

Stiles wishes he could sense Scott’s emotional state or do something for him. A word of comfort maybe, a reassuring pat on the back to say that they would be alright tonight and tomorrow and years to come.

He can’t do that.

And that sucks.

“Where are you going?” Scott asks suddenly, breaking that train of thought.

Stiles is startled by the question. He pulls up to a stop sign and glances at the other.

“I don’t know.”

And then it’s quiet again.

_Do any of us really know where we’re going? Does it matter anymore?_

The radio is off so the only noise in the jeep is the gentle hum of the air condition and the miraculous roar of the now fixed engine. It’s not too bad though. Sitting alone with Scott in a space that's meant for them right now. Because nobody has breathed each other’s air the way Scott and Stiles have.

About half an hour passes when Scott jolts awake from a daydream and is watching the eerily empty road ahead.

“Dude, where are we going, seriously?”

“I told you I don’t know.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, Scott. I’m just driving.”

“Okay? How about driving us home?”

Stiles takes a peek at the night sky and watches ripples of lightning flash through the clouds.

“Maybe for once,” he says, tapping a tense hand against the steering wheel, “We shouldn’t worry about anything, you know? No elaborate plan or scheme. Why don't we drive into the unknown for a bit?”

“But-”

“Then you don’t have to think about losing anybody, saying bye and all that.”

“Stiles. . .”

“Come on, Scott,” Stiles presses, anxiety creeping up and stiffening his muscles, “You think about _dying_ when you look at Kira - or her dying. At this point, that calls for a little R &R.”

Scott is at a loss so Stiles keeps talking for lack of knowing when to stop.

“We'll drive until the jeep breaks down - which it _will_ but I'm still not abandoning it - and maybe we won’t be able to fix it when it does. Then who knows? We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere with no direction, no money, no guidance. But hey, you’re a true alpha werewolf and I’m-” Stiles throws his hands up but the jeep swerves so he grabs the wheel again, “I’m a kickass friend so let’s do this without thinking about doing it and what could happen and we can do this, Scott, we-”

“Stiles,” Scott interrupts seriously. “You’re already overthinking it.”

“That’s-” Stiles drifts his eyes to the side enough to see the crooked smile on Scott’s face and that helps his nerves relax. “That’s a valid point. Now stop questioning me so I won't do that.”

They drive for a few more minutes and a pressure starts to make it's way over Stiles' throat. They stop at a red light, regardless of the fact there isn’t a single car around. Chancing another ticket to add to the pile of ones his dad has gotten him out of is a bad idea.

Hunched over, Stiles shifts uncomfortably in his seat and his fingers clench, one hand going up to his mouth nervously.

He can hear Scott move and knows he's observing him now. He  _feels_ it.

“We can’t run away, Stiles.”

There it is. It was inevitable. He knew Scott would say that. He knew it. It didn't stop the sting though.

“Why not?”

His voice is quiet and pleading and a lot of other things. Scott is the one with the storm. It’s Scott that needs to be comforted. But Stiles feels like he’s been crumbling since Scott had to bring up _goodbye_. The kinds of things Stiles needs to suppress. The stuff he wants to pretend doesn't exist. 

“You know we can’t.”

“You said-” Stiles starts weakly, “You said you don’t want anymore goodbyes. This way we don’t have to say goodbye.”

Scott doesn’t answer as Stiles’ breathing picks up and he feels like he’s on the verge of having a panic attack. There’s a crushing weight over his lungs and the light won’t turn green and Scott is staring at him and it’s all too much-

“That’s not fair.”

“We don’t get fair, Scott!" Stiles breaks out, "We get monsters trying to claw our throats out and hunters shooting freaking arrows at you- That's what we get," he glowers bitterly, head throbbing. "If we leave, maybe things will go back to normal somehow or something changes, I don’t know. We can't keep this up forever.”

Stiles is getting riled up, his eyes rapidly searching the deserted roads for nothing. A boom of thunder falls over the Earth and the light changes to green but he doesn’t move the jeep forward.

“Soon we go our separate ways after graduation or get killed by an evil goblin - the loch ness monster, a spawn of satan, whatever - some new threat that rents a nice little apartment right by the school. When does it end for us, Scott?”

Ahead, lightning flashes sparkles over the black roads and the streetlight flickers to a warm orange before it stays on a harsh red. Stiles twitches his foot on the gas pedal but he’s too preoccupied with his own racing mind now to worry about driving.

“I don’t know,” Scott answers sadly, “But I know this isn’t how we fix it.”

“We can’t fix anything,” Stiles scoffs, defeated, sliding his hands off the wheel.

“We can try.”

Always the optimist. It angers Stiles as much as it pacifies him to hear Scott stay hopeful for his sake. For all their sake. Not even an hour ago, Scott was the one moping and now he’s attempting to cheer someone else up.

Stiles turns fully towards Scott so they’re gazing at each other. One of those moments where a silent understanding passes between them. Easily sharing the same ideas and feelings because they've been by each other since they can remember. 

“What if one day,” Stiles breathes out, “I watch you turn around and you don’t come back.”

There’s another flash and it’s brighter this time because the thunderstorm is moving closer to them, drowning out all the unwanted noise. It vibrates Stiles to his core, bringing out feelings he meant to keep locked away. 

Scott’s eyes widen slightly and a dazed look crosses his features. He drifts his gaze to the window for a few beats and then back to Stiles.

“So if I’m with you when you leave,” Stiles adds, “At least. . .”

He’s cut off by more rumbling thunder and his throat tightens as if someone wrapped a cord around it. Losing face, he swivels back around so that he’s focused on the mocking green light. His heart is pumping in his ears.

_I won’t get left behind._

_I won’t lose you._

_We can be together if it ends._

Apprehensively, he hits the gas pedal because driving forward might take him far away from Scott. Too bad that’s the last place he wants to be. He speeds up, making a point not to look at the other, pulse elevating.

They don't even make it to the next intersection before Scott sits up.

“Pull over, Stiles,” he insists softly.

“Where? We’re not exactly in the suburbs anymore.”

“I don’t care. Drive into the woods, whatever, just pull over.”

“This jeep can barely handle the street, much less a bunch of sticks and rocks.”

“Please.”

It doesn’t take much after that. Stiles sort of goes on autopilot and finds a dirt road to park. The gravel crunches under the tires and they come to a bumpy stop. Whether it's because Scott is an alpha or his best friend - probably both - Stiles naturally listens and follows through for him.

The woods surrounding the jeep feel familiar and safe because it’s in the trees where Stiles and Scott have spent most of their growing up. As soon as the engine dies, Stiles is aware of his own irregular breathing.

“Your heart’s racing,” Scott points out, not helping the situation.

“I’m aware of that, thank you.”

There’s a painful pause and then Scott leans up, straightening his posture, arms folding over the dashboard, head tilted so he can look more directly at Stiles.

“I’m sorry.”

The last person that needs to apologize does it and that's only making Stiles feel guiltier.

Stiles sighs, closing his body in on itself to feel smaller, “Can we just turn around and forget what I said? This is killing me.”

He makes the mistake of catching Scott’s eye again and can practically read what’s on his mind.

_You’re already killing yourself._

“I’m fine, really,” Stiles shrugs halfheartedly.

“No. you’re not.”

“And you are?”

He didn’t mean to come off challenging but it slips out and Scott is taken back for a second time, unsure and confused. He wants to make Scott understand so he sits up quickly, determination replacing anxiety.

“We’re always imagining the worst. Don’t you get tired of living like that?”

“Not if it means we’re saving people.”

“Why do _you_ have to be the one saving everyone? Why you, Scotty?”

It doesn’t take long for Scott’s face to soften again, a fondness and concern washing over. Even in the dark, Stiles can make out the drop in his shoulders, as if a heavy weight has made a home there, and the bleariness in his eyes, hazy and out of reach.

Scott shifts, lowers his head, opens his mouth and closes it before opening it again. 

“If I don’t then-”

Stiles cuts him off there, crashing his lips against Scott’s, fingers curling into the back of his dark hair, other hand reaching up blindly to cup Scott’s damp cheek. He brushes his thumb over the skin there and kisses him harder, desperately needing to drown Scott in something that isn’t misery.

“Stop-” Stiles whimpers, kissing him again “-putting yourself last.”

He feels Scott tremble a little under his touch and his skin is unusually cold. Meanwhile Stiles is searing, restlessly clinging to Scott, blending them together, forgetting about danger and loss.

Scott’s mind must have caught up to the situation because he hesitantly touches Stiles’ side, kissing back timidly, heat rising through him now. He moves warily against Stiles, like he's sure but self aware of hurting him in someway. 

_What if this is the last time we see each other? What if tomorrow Scott disappears?_

Pain erupts in Stiles’ chest and he grasps onto Scott forcefully, pushing him back against the door. He needs to be with Scott, to be grounded by his gentleness, and reminded that he’s still there with him, still alive because of him.

“Stiles,” Scott whispers in a pant, eyelashes falling as his eyes shut completely, arms pulling Stiles closer.

There’s safety here, in Scott’s arms. It’s the closest thing to solace Stiles can claim. More than anything he wants to remind Scott that they deserve something for themselves too. That they can ask and take as much as they give. So he pushes further, breathing heavily into Scott, finding something more to believe in.

And he can’t stop shaking and dragging his fingers through Scott's hair and over his jacket, because he doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t want to wake up and Scott is gone. He doesn’t want to live in a world where Scott isn’t.

He chokes a little into the next kiss, a grief stricken sound that must stir something in Scott because he eases his head back. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Scott tells him, rubbing circles over Stiles’ spine. “I’ve got you.”

 _I’ve got you too_ , Stiles tries to blurt but nothing comes out. So he kisses Scott again, his body is burning all over. He clutches the fabric of Scott’s shirt, becoming dizzy, holding on so he doesn't pass out.

It's Scott’s cue to pull back when Stiles struggles to catch his shallow, ragged breath. He sinks into Scott, calming into the light grazes of his lips across Stiles’ cheek.

“Sorry,” Stiles manages, somewhere between fainting from a lack of oxygen and buzzing from adrenaline.

“I’m not,” Scott murmurs sweetly, rubbing his hand carefully over Stiles’ chest now which somehow relieves the pain, even if Scott doesn’t mean to.

To have a second of peace, a moment in time to share with Scott, Stiles will sacrifice anything for it. He wants time to standstill so they can stay like this, in a place where nothing can touch them.

Thunder crackles faintly overhead but there's no lightning this time. It resounds off into the distance.

“It never rained,” Stiles notices, voice barely audible. He rests his hand over Scott’s shoulder and opens his weary eyes to find the beautiful shade of brown he’s always known.

_I guess not all storms leave a mark._

In Scott’s eyes, he doesn’t see _goodbye_ anymore. It doesn’t feel like tonight is the last night for them. Tomorrow isn't as frightening. 

Stiles’ drumming heart swells and he’s overwhelmed by another wave of chaotic emotions as Scott closes the small space between them, holding Stiles securely so he can convey what he means.

What he’s always _really_ meant when looking at Stiles.

_You’re loved._

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